


Resemblance

by Stariceling



Series: Resemblance and Remembrance [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Flashbacks, M/M, Pastfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-24
Updated: 2005-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stariceling/pseuds/Stariceling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yami Bakura, what he can and can't remember about his life. Honda and Bakura's reactions to his behavior. (Yami Bakura/Past!Honda)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pastshipping (I'm actually 92% sure there is no official name for past!Bakura/past!Honda, but blah.) Years later and I still don't think there is one. For shame, internet. (Guess that means I'm the only one writing it?)  
> I get to try writing from Y.Bakura's point of view. Whee. ^_^

Ryou dozed off a few minutes ago, I think it’s safe to move now. It’s one of the few times I don’t have to fight him for control. I’ve taken over at night so many times, so I can lie still and just be. I’ll pretend that this is my body, that I’m right where I belong, instead of lying in someone else’s body a few thousand years out of my own time.

I let my eyes open slowly. I want a little time to adjust to the unfamiliar world I’m going to see.

My body slumped to one side while Ryou was sleeping. I’m leaning on someone now. I’m unsettled, because it’s too familiar. The warmth against my side, even the smell is strangely familiar.

It’s disturbing.

One of Ryou’s friends, I’m sure. He’s well muscled, solid. His shoulder is strangely damp under my cheek, so he must have just arrived. I know it’s still raining outside. I can hear it through the window.

I’m not sure which bothers me more here, the unfamiliar surroundings, or the familiar feeling of the body I’m leaning against.

If I tilt my head just a little I can see his face. Honda. I’d never forget that stubborn face, even from such an awkward angle. He’s interfered with me enough to ensure that, at least.

I’d like to believe that it’s just because he meddles too much that I remember him. I can’t fool myself as easily from this angle. The line of his jaw and the muscles in his neck remind me of someone else. This particular view is one I’ve gotten so many times before. Not of Honda, but someone far more precious. Someone from a long time ago.

I used to stare up at someone just like this. I remember the way it felt then, and it’s confusing me. I want to bite that neck, to run my tongue along his jaw.

I’m not thinking right now. I’m forgetting who this really is. Honda. Frustrating, stubborn, meddling, maddening Honda. It doesn’t matter who he reminds me of.

I can’t stay here. I’m not going to stare at him like this any longer. I sit up, push myself away from the couch, move to stand behind him. This view is much safer. At least Honda’s ridiculous haircut doesn’t remind me of anything.

Not that I ever saw the top of his head, that one from too long ago. Not that I remember, anyway. I want to remember his name. I want to be able to whisper his name to remind myself of my own memories.

I’m filled with visions and smells and feelings that imply things I used to know, without quite letting me make sense of them. That’s all I am some days, a bundle of faulty memories. Maybe I never knew his name in the first place. I knew so little about who he actually was.

When we first met everything went so fast. I’m not even sure if ‘met’ is the right word. All there was between us was a moment with his arm firmly around my waist, his hand over my mouth. He shielded me from sight just as long as I would let him before I escaped.

I was too young and too angry to think straight then. In my rush, I didn’t even see him until it was too late, after he had caught me. That moment was when I truly started forcing myself to focus. I shaped all of the formless hate, all the power inside of me into a perfect form. I taught myself to be silent, efficient, ruthless and even invisible when I needed to be. Anything to avoid being caught ever again, to avoid needing saving ever again.

I still don’t like the feeling of irony that memory always gives me. He helped me escape capture, but the feeling of a stranger helping me disturbed me so much that I had to escape from him.

I always limited the time I spent near him, but now if I could just see him. . .

He knew nothing about me. I would like to think he knew nothing. I knew so little about him, or at least I do now. I would watch him sometimes. Any time he was near he caught my eye. He was a mystery. Why did he bother to shield me in that crucial moment? I looked so harmless and childish when I first arrived in that city, something I hated about myself at the time. He might have taken me for a pickpocket or something equally petty.

I don’t think he waited for me. I don’t want to think I went looking for him. It was just something that happened, seeing him. It felt natural that he would be somewhere near if I simply looked.

After that first time he saved me, I went out of my way to watch him. I would just skulk in the shadows and watch the way he moved. I spent plenty of time waiting, spying, in those days. It didn’t make that much difference that I wasted a few moments watching him.

I’m sure I would have never gone beyond that if he hadn’t caught my eye. I would never have been so stupid as to start something, to reveal myself, but he already knew I was there. I know he turned and smiled at me, and I let myself be caught.

I want to remember his smile. I want to know what look he gave me that managed to overcome my every instinct for survival and draw me to him. The look I picture in my head is too warm, too satisfied. I would never yield for a smile like that. It’s Honda’s smile I’m imagining. I hate him all the more for getting tangled in my memories.

Whatever look it was, I knew it was meant for me alone. I let him carelessly come to me. I remember how he put a firm hand on my shoulder and leaned down to look into my face, and in that moment I knew I was caught.

It was thrilling for a moment. The risk of being caught and executed was always a thrill, but only because I knew I was too strong and far too clever to ever be caught. When he leaned in and told me he was glad I was all right, I knew this was different. There was no thrill of danger when he pulled me close.

I tried to steal a kiss. The first and only time I can clearly remember trying. He tilted his head up to avoid me and I ended up kissing his neck, just beneath his jaw. Even then I was getting used to being able to take what I wanted, but I didn’t move. I just sucked hungrily on the spot I had accidentally taken. I was satisfied enough to be able to do that. I remember how his arm felt, pressed tight over my shoulders, trapping me.

That view of his neck shouldn’t be the first thing I think about. I want to remember his eyes and his voice, but those memories always come in slowly, and they’re always blurred.

I want to remember his mouth, the feel of his lips and tongue, his kiss. . . but I can’t. I never kissed him. Never. That was always just out of reach. I hate people who insist on being taller than me, almost as much as I hate people who are too stubborn to know when to let me have what I want. He was both.

Maybe I could have claimed his lips if I tried, but I told myself I didn’t care. At least I knew how his skin tasted, even if I’ve forgotten now. His neck was my solace. I always bit him, venting just a tiny bit of my anger at the world on him. For a second or two I think I even lived for the sound he made in his throat when I bit hard enough to leave marks.

I must have been able to feel his pulse under my tongue. For the few minutes while I had my mouth on him and I could get him to put an arm around me, he was mine. That feeling was powerful enough that I remember it even now. It was all he would let me have, but it was enough to start. I never imagined it was all I would ever have of him.

I lean on the back of Honda’s chair. Ryou’s so impractical. I should know, I’ve shared a body with him long enough. There’s another free chair, and there’s plenty of room on the floor, and he chooses to nap on Honda’s armrest.

I let my eyes memorize the back of Honda’s neck. Even though there are no memories attached to this angle, I still want to bite it. It’s because I’m still thinking of him. He’s like poison in my mind, keeping me from thinking straight.

The last time I saw him, he wasn’t himself. That was after my first, failed, attempt at the millennium items, when the search to bring me in had just begun. He probably could have asked anything as compensation for turning me in. Now I wonder if he was thinking of that, if that was why he was no longer the calm, solid man I had let myself seek again and again.

He put his arms around me and wouldn’t let go. He tilted my face towards him, ran his tongue over the scar on my cheek. He tried to tell me what to do.

He had no right. No one touches me there. No one tells me what to do.

‘Don’t go.’ That was all. Simple, stupid words said with such feeling. I wanted to lash out, just to prove I could make him let go, but he drew back by himself.

He kissed my forehead, whispered it again against my skin, ‘Don’t go.’

I know what lay under the words, because of the way he sounded, the way he touched me. He was promising everything I wanted for such a simple favor, everything I could have ever wanted from him. He was promising so much more than a kiss.

But he would only give it on his terms. I would not, could not, give in. Not then.

I left him. I never saw him again. I meant to, but there was never another chance. I wanted to capture him as soon as I had the rest of Egypt under my control, right before the end. If nothing else, that would show him that I come and go as I please. A petty victory, but after a hard battle I think I would have enjoyed the diversion.

I could have had him. He was mine already, he just needed to be informed of the fact. A few more touches and bites and a bit of force was all I needed to convince him. Not the crowning achievement of my career by anyone’s reckoning, but taking him for my own would have been extremely enjoyable.

He must have died. When, how, I have no idea, but I know it happened. He’s beyond my reach.

I trace one finger over the back of Honda’s neck. I’m not thinking. I’m not going to think about him anymore. Someone who disappeared from this world thousands of years ago should be allowed to fall into obscurity. I don’t even know his name anymore. I’m sure it won’t appear on the wall of any monument or tomb. The fact that he existed, and the fact that he no longer exists, aren’t important to anyone but me now.

Reincarnation must be a very messy business. How do you recognize someone you barely knew after so long? If all I have to go on is the shape of his neck and the shadow of his face, Honda is as close as anybody.

I don’t know why I’m giving in, now of all times. I always wanted him to be mine on my own terms. I know Honda is never going to give me that, not without me destroying what few interesting points he has. I also don’t think he’s sleeping as deeply as he should be if I’m going to get away with what I want to do. . .

I lean down and drag my teeth over his exposed neck. I can hear his breath catch when I do. I can feel it.

“Bakura?” he asks sleepily.

He wants to question my actions. I’m not about to answer him. Let Ryou explain it later. I press down to leave a half-circle of tooth marks in his skin. It won’t stay there more than a few minutes. I want to bite harder, but I know I’m better off not leaving him any evidence.

It’s awkward biting the back of his neck. I can feel his muscles tense under my lips, but that’s not all I want. I want to know what it felt like before, in my other life. Then I was in a position to feel his pulse.

I want to experiment with Honda, because I don’t know how it felt before. I should have memorized every second, but I took it for granted. I don’t know if his heart sped up when I was close. I wish I knew how his throat felt when he started to breathe faster, what noises he made, if I could feel the vibrations when he spoke.

This must be my most pathetic moment. I want to use Honda to pretend a person I knew countless lifetimes ago is still alive. I want to feel his pulse and pretend that it’s someone else’s life I’m tasting.

“The hell are you doing?” He twists around in the chair to look at me. He must be uncomfortable.

I bite him again. Let him have that for an answer. He hisses when I tighten my grip on him.

“You.”

Me. Realization and accusation all in one. That’s convenient for him, I’m sure, but I don’t care if he knows I’m not his precious friend.

If I stand on my toes I can lean far enough over the chair to reach the point where his neck meets his shoulder. I bite there, hard. I would latch on and stay, but the feeling of his breath on my own neck bothers me too much.

He’s still. Just watching me, not even complaining. He should complain, rant and yell. He’s making me feel stupid by staying so calm. “You don’t care?”

He shrugs. “Whatever time you waste playing vampire you can’t use to cause real trouble.”

They might look similar, but Honda really is nothing like him. Nothing like my nameless one. It’s comforting to know that the resemblance is only skin deep.

I pull away. It’s not that I don’t still want to bite something, but I at least have self control. I’m sick of him. I hate the familiar taste of him. I hate the way his hair smells while damp with rain.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Taking him home.” I’ve played with my host’s body enough for now. I want to retreat, to pretend I don’t exist for an hour or two.

There are other things I might say. I could look him in the eye and tell him the craziest things. I want to trap him, chain him in gold and leave my marks all over his body. I want to take his life out of his hands and into my own. All because he looks like someone who died long before he was born.

I could tell Honda he sounded better before. No, tell him I once knew someone who was far more eloquent than him. It wasn’t him. Familiar, but too different to be him. ‘Don’t go.’ At least ask me for something simple, Honda. Ask for something I could actually give if I felt like it. Ask for an action, not an explanation.

It’s still raining. My host is going to be upset later, wanting to know how he got home and how he got soaked in the process. I can’t bring myself to care.

I wanted to have him on my own terms, back then. I truly hated him along with the rest of the world, just not in quite the same way. It wasn’t the same cold hate I had for the others, for the ones who would have stolen the breath from my lungs and the warmth from my blood if I had let them.

Out of a whole world full of despicable people that needed to be destroyed, he was mine. He was different. I never wanted to destroy him. I would have stolen his blood, his breath and his soul. I would have made him unfit for anyone else to touch, made him mine.

He offered me something else. I couldn’t take it, because then it would have been him who unmade me. He would have been the one to steal me away. I had to be the one in control. I had to hate him on my own terms.

Sometimes I think I wouldn’t put it past Honda to make the same offer, to try to take me away. I’m lucky he’s too disgusted with me to care.

I don’t know what I think I’m doing with this meddling boy. I’m looking for the strangest resemblances. The curve of his profile and the way his hair smells when wet are too shallow to base anything on, but it doesn’t matter. This time at least I’m winning this pathetic, personal battle. I won’t make him mine. I don’t want him for myself. But at least I’ll hate Honda on my own terms.


	2. After Resemblance: Honda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place an hour or two after ‘Resemblance’ ends.

Honda prodded the fresh bruise on the inside of his arm. Much as he liked Ryou, he couldn’t help thinking that his other self was a violent brat. It was probably his fault for following Bakura and trying to use a mix of force and bribery to bring him home, but it was either that or let the spirit run amok in Bakura’s body.

It was the least he could do to help Bakura, especially when the spirit was so agreeable about staying home and harassing him instead of getting into real trouble. Besides, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t gained a few bruises defending his friends before. He just usually didn’t have to defend them from themselves like this.

Turning so that he could look down at Bakura’s face, Honda allowed the surge of protective feelings for his friend cover his doubts about being the other Bakura’s new ‘playmate.’ The fact that Bakura was clinging to his shirt as he slept only made it stronger.

Honda felt needed and useful when he had Bakura to watch over like this. He needed something to do with himself, and at least looking out for Bakura was a worthy goal. After the way the spirited had acted, Bakura’s sleeping face looked more worn than peaceful, and Honda wondered if he was seeing Bakura as being more fragile then he really was.

Honda had never known Bakura to have mood swings like the ones he’d seen tonight. Sure, the spirit didn’t make sense a lot of the time, but he had never demanded something and then changed his mind that Honda knew of. He was nothing if not stubborn.

He had bitten at Honda’s neck repeatedly, mostly ignoring the rest of his body. He had made a complete pest of himself, squeezing Honda’s arm hard enough to bruise him while he tried to sink his teeth into his neck.

Honda didn’t know if the whole thing had been because of the spirit wanting to cause at least a little damage, or his habit of screwing with people’s minds, or some perverse kink of his, or some mix of the three. He had gotten to the point where he clung to Honda, his face completely hidden in Honda’s neck, mumbling something that might have been a name, or a curse. Honda almost felt sorry for him.

Almost. As soon as he had stopped trying to get Bakura off of him and put his arm around Bakura’s body to steady him, the spirit shoved his way out of his grip. He had snarled what was obviously a curse at Honda and tried to escape. Honda had to drag him back onto the bed.

After a furious struggle, Honda ended up pinning Bakura to the bed, both of them badly out of breath. Honda had offered to let him up if he would behave. All he got for his troubles was a knee in the thigh (lucky for him Bakura was in an awkward position to be aiming from) and the assertion that the spirit was not going to play nice.

Honda had reluctantly let him up anyway, only to watch Bakura curl up snarling to himself that he would not submit to Honda’s whims. Ever.

After a few minutes of this, Honda got so fed up that he leaned over Bakura’s body and told the spirit that he didn’t need to worry, because he wouldn’t do anything to him on any terms. He wouldn’t even have anything to do with him if he wasn’t lurking in Bakura’s body.

Maybe it was a bit harsh of him, Honda thought. Then again, he thought he had always been a little too soft on this particular form of evil, at least while it shared a body with Ryou. He had to remind himself that he only felt bad because if it really had been Ryou he was speaking to, he would have been truly hurt. Honda seriously doubted that the spirit cared.

Bakura stirred, tugging Honda’s shirt and muttering in his sleep. Honda reached down and ruffled Bakura’s hair affectionately, rousing him.

As Bakura rubbed sleepily at his eyes with the back of his hand, Honda tugged his sleeve down quickly to cover the bruise on his arm.

“Honda?” Bakura murmured in a sleepy voice. Honda was sure it was Ryou this time, not the spirit. He didn’t seem too alarmed about waking to find himself more or less in Honda’s lap. It wasn’t until he looked around that Honda could feel the worry building in him. “How did I get home?”

Honda knew immediately what Bakura was worried about, and he was sure that explaining that he had kept Bakura’s other self under control by offering up part of his body to be gnawed on would not do anything to reassure Bakura. Instead of explaining he smiled carelessly and said, “I walked you home. Don’t you remember? I almost had to carry you, you were falling asleep on me.”

It was at least partially true, he’d almost had to carry Bakura at one point to make him behave. The relieved look Bakura gave him was worth it.

“Thank you.” Bakura hugged Honda, his arm pressing right where the other Bakura had bruised him before, so that Honda had to concentrate on not wincing. He paused before commenting, “You’ve been looking after me a lot lately.”

Honda wasn’t paying attention to Bakura’s words. He was suddenly hyper-aware of how close Bakura’s face was to his neck. He could actually feel Bakura’s breath on the spot that the spirit had been biting.

“Thank you so much.”

“It’s nothing.” Honda squashed the urge to edge away from Bakura. He was sure Bakura wasn’t trying to come on to him, but after the way the spirit had acted, he couldn’t help interpreting it that way. “I just stuck around to be sure you were okay. I’d better go home and let you sleep now.”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You were. . . I mean, I thought you were cold.” Honda couldn’t admit that he had only stayed because Bakura had clung to him in his sleep. “You were shivering.”

Bakura looked oddly disappointed as he thanked Honda again. Honda hated lying to him. Once he started every lie just seemed to lead to another. It was that other Bakura’s fault in the first place for giving him something he needed to lie about.

“I should really be getting home,” Honda insisted. Bakura let go of him reluctantly, but followed him when he tried to leave. He would have rather had Bakura stay in bed and trust him to let himself out.

“You know, you’re welcome any time.” Honda turned, just intending to tell him goodbye, and Bakura hugged him hard. His lips brushed just under his jaw as he did. Even telling himself it was a coincidence, Honda let out a startled noise.

Before Honda could question him, Bakura darted back inside, and left Honda staring at a closed door.

Honda would have been sure that brush of Bakura’s lips against his neck was an accident, except that it had been in the exact same spot that the other Bakura had proved so fond of biting.

There was a strange similarity Honda kept feeling from the two of them, and it wasn’t just the body they shared. It wasn’t just that spot either. Honda suspected that they were both trying to hide their reasons for hanging on him. He couldn’t guess yet what they were, but he knew he needed to find time to work with both of them.

It was Ryou he was worried about. His friend. He used to understand him so well, and now he knew there was something important that he just wasn’t seeing. For Ryou’s sake, he would have to uncover it.


	3. After Resemblance: Bakura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place about an hour after the first part of After Resemblance.

I should move. It’s getting cold here. The draft from under the door is sending cold air all up and down my legs, but I can’t convince them to move.

He’s not going to try to follow me anyway. Not tonight. If Honda was going to try to chase me down and demand what I meant by that kiss he would have done it by now.

I almost wish he had. Maybe I’m still too sleepy to think rationally. It’s just that I woke up with him so close, and I thought I was seeing something special. He looked so concerned for me.

More likely he was concerned about who he was going to have to face when I woke up. The violent one? The miserably shy one? Who knows which he thinks is worse. He certainly took off quickly when he found out it was me.

He lied to me. I never thought about Honda lying. It just didn’t seem like the sort of thing he would do, but he smiled at me and lied like it was nothing. I know my other self did something. I can feel it. My whole body aches in a way that can only mean he’s been using it, so that I don’t seem to fit inside my own skin anymore.

Either he caused some trouble Honda doesn’t want to tell me about, or he hasn’t caused any trouble that Honda knows of, so he figures it’s safe to lie to me. I wish I knew which it was.

Serves him right that I kissed him. That’s what I think. Serves him right if he didn’t like it. He can just deal with it. I think I’m entitled to be a little dishonest and to steal a kiss or two if he’s going to lie to me. Though, I can’t help thinking that he probably didn’t notice. He probably didn’t even feel it.

He won’t have felt it. The more I think, the more I’m sure. The other is laughing at me from just outside my mind, flaunting that he knows something about Honda that I don’t. I don’t want to know what it is that Honda can share with him that he won’t share with me.

But why would Honda share anything with me? He doesn’t see me at all.

I know it’s not fair to think like that, but I can’t help myself lately. I know that he thinks of me as a friend, and that I should be happy with that. I know that being friends alone should make me feel loved and important enough to be happy. Instead it just makes me feel like he’s completely ignorant of what I feel for him. Or worse, he knows but he wants to keep me at arms length to keep from encouraging me.

I like him. I’m not going use a stronger word than that, though I’m tempted to. I’m not going to encourage myself to be a bigger fool than I already am.

I can feel the other in the back of my mind. I think his thoughts are on Honda too. I can pick up his emotions more easily than his thoughts most of the time. He hates Honda. I think he hates everybody, actually. Or at least he hates everybody who he bothers to feel anything for.

I’ve learned to pick up on the different types of hate. They all have different textures that come with them. There are people he despises so much that he can make me physically sick just thinking about them. There are kinds of hate that seem to send him into a fury. There are ones that make him dwell on thoughts of revenge. There are ones that I think are just plain spite.

Honda feels different in his mind. I think he actually enjoys hating Honda, because there’s a content tone to the emotion. It’s still a painful emotion, sharp and angry, but he revels in it.

It’s not fair that he gets so much pleasure out of hating the one I like best.

Maybe that’s why Honda lied to me. Maybe I hurt him while my body was out of my control. If that’s the case then I don’t know if I ever want to forgive him for lying.

He tries to protect me until he forgets that there are things I can do for myself. If anyone can keep the other from bothering him, why not me? I at least have the advantage of sharing a body with him. I’ve stolen control from him before. I’ve even saved Honda from the other me before, but apparently he still doesn’t trust me to help him.

No. I can’t go dreaming up accusations like that. There has to be some reason he wouldn’t tell me the truth. Maybe he couldn’t tell me the truth. Maybe he thought he did. The other has fooled people into thinking he’s me before. I just thought Honda was able to tell the difference.

This isn’t getting me anywhere. I push myself up onto my feet. My legs are numb, but at least I can still walk on them. I’m going to take Honda’s advice and get to bed before I fall asleep on the floor.

I think I can still get in six hours of sleep. Sleep, dream, and forget for a little while that Honda doesn’t really like me. Not the way I want him to. I can almost feel the other laughing at me, but I’m not going to let myself care tonight.

He’s calling me a fool. I know it. He’s curled up in the back of my mind savoring the hurt tone to my thoughts and the pleasure he gets out of hating Honda.

I almost envy him. I want to be that comfortable in my feelings for Honda. I want to be so comfortable that I don’t care what he thinks of me. I want to be able to feel the way the other does, perfectly content and completely sure of what he wants.

Though. . . I don’t really want to hate Honda.


End file.
